Girl of the North Country
by Sherloqued
Summary: Sandor and Sansa each remember, their true feelings unknown to the other. 100-word drabble series/vignettes, told in alternating points of view.
1. Chapter 1

As they marched North, he thought of her. He wondered if he'd ever see her again. He told himself he no longer cared, after he'd asked her to come with him back then and she had said no. He even said that he hated people with ginger hair, but it was only because seeing them made him think of her.

He did not know that she walked along the battlements of Winterfell sometimes, staring out across the trees and hills and wondering what had become of him, if he was still alive, full of regret for not going with him.


	2. Chapter 2

He lay back on the hard wooden table in the dank cell at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, and thought of her again as he pulled his cloak tighter around him for warmth, cursing as he tried to get some sleep.

He did have to confess that thoughts of her helped him through his darkest days and nights, even if he was not given to ever admit it. He wondered if she still remembered him; or what he would do if she did remember him. But to see her again, even if for only one last time, would be all that he would wish.


	3. Chapter 3

He could smell the sea air through the barred window, hear the ocean. Another day, another time, it might even have been pleasant. But now, a film of ice coated the bars, and a cold wind whistled thought the settling cracks and gaps of the old fortress that had been left to ruin. He had seen that much of the bay had been frozen on the journey there; and he had wakened cross.

The red-headed wildling who had put them here appeared; and then he heard the clang of metal as the door was opened by the brother; her brother.


	4. Chapter 4

She watched as her sister and Brienne of Tarth sparred in the courtyard below. Littlefinger had come up beside her, whispering in her ear that he'd heard Brienne had beaten the Hound in single combat. She was reminded of the time he had whispered to her about how the Hound had gotten his terrible scars; and now his whispers only served to upset her. _Have the Gods made you the bringer of messages in these matters?_ she had wanted to reply, but held her tongue. Instead, she turned abruptly on her heel and left; leaving them all puzzling after her.


	5. Chapter 5

_You're the Hound._

The brother, Jon Snow, recognized him as he stood, ordering that he be released, with an awe to his voice for his reputation in battle that Sandor Clegane was not unused to hearing, but that he always tried to keep in humble perspective, as he had been trained to as a knight. A memento mori. The voice behind him that reminded him that a man's circumstances could always change. It had been years since he had first accompanied King Robert and Prince Joffrey to visit Winterfell; seven years, in fact. He remembered the vision in the flames.


	6. Chapter 6

She climbed to the top of the battlements, where she could always find some peace and solitude, her cloak wrapped round her in the wind. What had become of him? He had been left for dead. She looked out across the frozen landscape, and as she did, she saw a bird lifting up from the top of a distant tower. A crow perhaps; or, a raven delivering a message, she imagined. A seabird moving inland, away from a coming storm. How she admired them, the birds. No matter what happened on the ground below, they could always rise above it.


	7. Chapter 7

It was getting late, and she began to feel the deep cold, tingling in her fingers, even through her warm gloves; there was a halo around the low winter sun. She decided she had better go back indoors. With one last look through the parapet crenel, she thought she saw something out on the horizon - motion, a flash of light. _Only a reflection from the snow_ , she thought, and wondered if she had only imagined it. She blinked because the cold air made her eyes upwell a little. But there they were, and her heart leapt to see them. She did not know who, or what it could mean.

 _Riders_.


	8. Chapter 8

_Riders._

She had counted three for certain, up in front; and there appeared to be several more following behind them, though not as many as an army. Quickly she went back inside, barred the heavy wooden door closed behind her, and then hurried down the stone turret staircase to tell someone, alert the guards and soldiers to sound the tower bells in case it was not what she had hoped and prayed for, and the castle would need to be secured. Her hurrying down the spiralling stairs and what she had just seen had left her feeling nearly breathless.

"Bran! Maester Wolkan!" she called out.


	9. Chapter 9

Overhearing their conversation, he had learned that her brother, Jon Snow, was now the King in the North. _They must be here planning strategy_ , he wondered, recruiting followers to the cause from among the Night's Watch and the Free Folk.

"Will you join us in our fight." the unpretentious and plain-spoken young king said to him, and smiling broadly, shook his hand with conviction when he agreed. "We will need men like you in the war ahead."

He did the same with the rest of the Brotherhood in turn. "A fight in which we are all brothers." The wildling only glared at them.

There was no reason to doubt; he and the Brotherhood had seen it all in the fiery vision.

"But first we return to Winterfell."


	10. Chapter 10

There was a great hubbub of activity when they entered the gates and courtyard of Winterfell with King Jon. For his safety, it had been decided that he travel in secret, with little advance notice to anyone.

Sansa ran to and greeted Jon in a joyful embrace, as did Arya. Their younger brother Bran, now almost a man grown, rose from a specially designed wheeled chair and stood with the aid of crutches, which seemed to please Jon greatly. There was a very tall, large man and a high-ranking maester at his side, judging by the elaborate chain he wore. Stable hands to take their horses; household staff and servants. Lady Lyanna Mormont and several of the Northern Lords; and Brienne of Tarth, which he saw seemed to please the wildling greatly. Most would stay at Winter Town now; but Jon insisted that he, Beric, Thoros, Ser Davos Seaworth, the wildling Tormond Giantsbane and Ser Jorah Mormont stay with the family at the castle. Farther off, he could hear still more shouts of "Until Victory!"

When her eyes at last turned to look at him and she recognized him, she looked bewildered, almost as though she might weep; and she was more beautiful than he even could recall in all the times he had pictured her in his mind - her face, her hair, the hint of her womanly figure through the heavier winter dress of the North, a fur-trimmed cloak about her shoulders. _My beautiful little bird_ , he thought, not wanting to be the cause of any distress for her; she had been through enough. But then she smiled, and came over to him and took his hands in hers. _Ser Sandor_ , she whispered, _I'm glad to see you again,_ as she embraced him and pressed her cheek to his.


	11. Chapter 11

"I would have killed him, you know," he whispered to her in the Godswood, taking her hand and kissing it. "I wish I could have been here for you."

So much had happened while they had been apart.

"Yes," she said. "I imagined you would've, many times."

"I thought often that I should have gone with you when you left King's Landing that night." she told him. "I made the wrong choice."

"It was not your fault." he assured her. "And we are here, now."

"Noone will hurt you, ever again." he promised. "Not as long as I am living."


	12. Chapter 12

He had not expected such a greeting. He had been travelling on his own rootless path for so long that he hardly remembered anymore what it was to return to somewhere. It certainly hadn't been the place of his birth. He'd had to bend down a bit so that she could reach him fully; and he closed his eyes in those few moments of her embrace, in the haven of her. This is what he imagined it would feel like, returning home.

She recognized him at once. He looked so grand, entering Winterfell's gates, riding in at the head the party accompanying Jon, wrapped in a heavy cloak with a fur pelt at the shoulders. His expression was hard and stern as always; but in his eyes there was a gentleness as he looked at her, as she'd always remembered there could be. She knew that he would have respected Brienne of Tarth as a warrior greatly for besting him in combat, a worthy opponent; but Sansa herself had not cared for it, and it had caused her concern. The stable hands came to look after Stranger and take him to the stables after Sandor had dismounted, and after all she had been through, she no longer cared what anyone thought; and everyone would be so caught up in the excitement of Jon's return that they'd scarcely notice anyway.

"You look well, Ser Sandor." she told him, smiling.

"Lady Winterfell." He bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement.

She knew that he had said many times that he was no Ser, did not believe in it; but that was who he was to her, and who he would always be.


	13. Chapter 13

_Remember me to one who lives there . . ._

 _For she once was a true love mine._

Before he had agreed to join Jon and his forces, he had wanted to ask for her, to ask Jon to remember him to her when he would leave Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. And before he could, Jon Snow spoke to him of her. He didn't say much, just that everyone was well, but even to hear about her, hear her name, was enough, made him happy. She was there, she was real.

They had agreed to take Jon secretly to White Harbour and then continue overland to Winterfell, and as he walked out onto the deck of the ship, the wind hit hard and biting, the deck and railing slick with icy seawater, on the rough voyage.

 _If you're travellin', in the North Country fair . . ._ He had never been one for sentiment or fanciful thoughts, never had a reason to be, but today he half hummed, half sang the ballad's words under his breath in the cold, bitter wind, and laughed out loud, with a sense of anticipation and pleasure, out there on the deck alone. Perhaps now there was a reason to.

Once was, and still.


	14. Chapter 14

He had been too agitated to sleep. The ship had passed through the rough Bay of Seals, safely and well before the autumn storms came, rounded the precipitous Grey Cliffs headlands, with its fires burning on the hilltop; passed the light towers at the rocky shoals of Widow's Watch, and at Oldcastle. _Who tended those flames throughout the night_ , he wondered. By break of dawn, he could see the lights of the port city of White Harbour appear as the cold coastal fog began to lift with the sun. And soon after he could hear the helmsman relaying the captain's instructions, shouting for the crew to prepare for anchor and landing, the crowded city quiet now, but bustling by the morn.


	15. Chapter 15

_I would have killed him, you know."_

The thought of what Sandor might do had helped her to cope. But she would never have wanted it of him, truly. He had not nearly the honor of Sandor, was not near the good man he was, and she would want no harm or punishment to come to Sandor for such a deed. She was grateful enough for his devotion.

And as he said, they were here, now, and that helped ease her pain, made a future free of Ramsay seem possible. The Weirwood pool looked still and cold; dark, unreadable.

"No," she whispered, touching his arm. "He is not worth it."


	16. Chapter 16

_Ser Sandor._

She hoped he would indulge her in calling him that, because she knew he would not care for it.

She wondered what was it about this man whom she had come to care for and had so dearly missed, may be even to love? He was known as a brutal warrior in his service to kings. A realist, he was accepting of the harsh ways of the world. But she also knew the depth of his feelings and what had wounded him. Ironically, he embodied all that he chose to deny.

She knew a different side of him.


	17. Chapter 17

In the courtyard, a guard removed his helm.

"My Lady Winterfell," he said. "Ser Jaime Lannister is here at the gates, to see the King."

"Send him away," Sansa instructed him. "He will not find entry or quarter here."

"Yes, my lady."

The guard bowed his head in acknowledgement, ready to return to his post with the message, and Sansa's eyes turned to Bran in sadness.

"Please!" They all heard Ser Jaime call out. "I have come to offer my help in the coming war."

"Sansa," Jon intervened, taking her gently aside where they could speak more privately. "Should we not at least hear him out."

She sighed; Sansa had learned well that allies in a common cause might not be those whom one would ordinarily choose, or even like. She reluctantly agreed. But she could never forget.

* * *

"There's the seventh." His partner whispered, when the guard returned.

"What are you on about now." He heaved a sigh in annoyance. Their watch had been long and tiring and cold, he was hungry, and he wanted to return to his quarters and get some rest.

"The Seven. 'From the cardinal directions will come The Seven.' The Seven warriors of the legend."


	18. Chapter 18

As Sansa watched Ser Jaime enter the gates, she noticed that he did not wear the garb that would have proclaimed him for all to see as a Lannister and member of the Royal Guard. He was dressed plainly, in simple armour and a dark cloak, likely to disguise him on such a perilous journey alone in foreign territory. But he seemed different now; even humbled.

And when he removed his gloves, much to her shock, she saw that his right hand, his sword hand, had been replaced with one of gold!

" _H_ _ow are the mighty fallen_ ," she despaired, recalling the verse from the holy text of _The Seven-Pointed Star_ ; and she felt a conflicting sympathy for him, wishing that she did not.


	19. Chapter 19

He sat there up on the battlements, in the dark, and took another large draught of wine. Until he heard soft footsteps echo on the stone stairs, and then the creak of wood and hinges as the heavy door opened. She didn't notice him right away.

"What brings you here, Sandor Clegane, looking so somber," she asked, when she saw him.

"Hello, Little Bird," he muttered. "I hoped you'd come." He remembered she had told him how much she liked coming up to the battlements at Winterfell, and at Kings Landing too. To get away, to think.

It was a familiar situation, from another war, another time. He had needed courage then, and he needed it now.

"I remember," she said. To hear him call her that again, after all these years, now sounded like an endearment, softening her heart after all she had been through, and still gave her a sense of calm and safety.

"I'm glad to see you," she continued. "There hasn't been much of a chance, with everything . . ." and her voice trailed off.

"Look at you," he said, in a voice low and fierce. "You survived."

He rose and came toward her, and she slipped her arm in his in the cold night. They walked together to look over the edge, the frozen landscape, the stars overhead so clear. The horizon safe, for now.

"They'll be here soon," she whispered to him.

"I wanted to see you, a happy memory to keep with me . . .

"Thank you," she said, and as she looked up at him, her eyes glistened in the darkness - with tears, he thought - of happiness and sorrow, and of gratitude, and then she kissed his cheek.


	20. Chapter 20

People seemed to be pairing off all around him. And he was usually alone. You'd think that was the total of human existence - killing and fucking. But it was a celebration of life and the living. He wasn't much for crowds and celebrations, but he could admit he was glad of that.

"Why did you not go with her, that girl?" she asked, sitting down to join him; he had not asked her to. "She could have made you happy for a little while." So she had been watching, deciding on whether or not she should go to him, hesitant, it seemed.

He hoped that the pleasant surprise of her saying that hadn't shown on his face. But he chuckled.

"Then what is it that would make you happy?" she had asked him.

"What do you care, Little Bird." he said, between swallows of ale, and continued to finish his food. He regretted it straight away, that he had said it so harshly to her; he hadn't meant to.

He knew what had happened to her. If it had been him, he would have been so sweet to her, treated her like she should have been treated, how it should have been.

They talked for awhile, and before she got up to leave, she touched his hand and smiled, and her touch seemed to linger a bit longer than it should have, a gentle caress; her gaze as well. If he didn't know better, he would have thought . . .

* * *

When he went to her chambers, she welcomed him in an embrace. She must have sent any guards away. She was in her nightdress, with her hair long and undone, so beautiful. A warm fire burned in the fireplace. He could not help but fall into her arms, kiss her.

"Are you sure," he whispered.

"Yes, I want to," she said.

"Sansa."

She took his hand and took him to her bed.

And when the morning came, he kissed her goodbye.


	21. Chapter 21

She awoke at dawn, with Sandor readying to leave for Kings Landing. For war, and his own personal battle. Still in her nightdress, she quickly put on her robe. There was a soft knock at the door; her trusted maid had brought breakfast, which Sansa discreetly retrieved.

She kissed him, and made him swear to come back to her. Until then, she would say a prayer, every day, in the Godswood.

"Swear it," she had insisted. "By the Old Gods and the New, by yours and mine."

Ramsay had once told her that he would always be a part of her.

 _ _You will not__ , she remembered thinking. Especially not now, when there was someone she loved.

Why should he control and determine the course of her life? Did she not have the right to be happy, like everyone else? To a happy future. Not sad and alone and pitied.

She sighed and lay back onto the pillows, remembering. The pillowcase smelled of lavender water and deliciously of Sandor still.

A happy memory.


	22. Chapter 22

He thought of her as he lay down to sleep, at the river's bend where they made camp for the night, after crossing the Ruby Ford. She'd begged him to stay safe and to come back to Winterfell once and for all - and he promised her that he would, for her sake.

She'd dressed hastily to see him off the next morning, standing up there on the battlements again, and he looked up at her once more before he left. She touched her fingertips to her lips and waved him a kiss, and he raised his hand in farewell, and then fell in with the cavalry and men-at-arms.

She'd asked him once to forgive her calling him Ser, knowing how he felt about it, _but she might be the only one who could call him that_ , he thought, smiling to himself. He thought of what he would do when he met his brother again.

He could hear the river rushing outside, behind the thoughts of her beauty naked, the feel of her body, the soft touch of her fingers over the back of his hand when she invited him to her chambers, her kisses; but strangely, as he drifted off to sleep, it was what she had said to him in the Godswood that he remembered - __"He is not worth it."__

And now he desperately wanted to go home to her.


End file.
